


You May Eat Me If You Like

by SharpestScalpel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Caning, D/s, M/M, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestScalpel/pseuds/SharpestScalpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a kink meme prompt here:</p>
<p>http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8074.html?thread=17609098t17609098</p>
<p>
  <i>5x Eirk nearly made it to subspace and 1x he did.<br/>Yup, in the mood for subspace!Erik like you wouldn't believe. :D<br/>Would prefer no Erik/Others and Charles/Others but if needs must then I won't begrudge, certainly. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Extra internet baked goods for aftercare snippet(s) and/or emotionally-overwhelmed-in-a-good-way-&-thus-teary-eyed!Erik b/c lol, how can I justify this, I can't resist those eyes? (and neither can Charles, trololo)</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Also, waffles or pancakes? (I'm a pancake girl, what can I say) (of course, waffles or pancakes need not be present in fic, ahahaha)</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>TTFYT and best regards, anon. \o/</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You May Eat Me If You Like

5

Erik arches his back - the sting of the cane across his buttocks and thighs is sharp and immediate and it keeps him firmly connected to his body. It’s a good thing, a thing he desires. He’d learned to disconnect from his body, to ignore pain when it was necessary. But with Charles, Erik stayed there and felt it.

Instead of going away, he went deeper, felt consumed by the ache and burn of it. All of his skin throbbed in sympathy; all of his nerves fired at the moment of impact.

It was so close – it was just out of his grasp; he reached for that spot in his head he almost never found. Erik knew it was there; he’d found it the first time with Charles, in an anonymous hotel room on one of an endless series of America’s backroads. It was waiting for him, at the bottom of his own mind. If only he could go far enough for it.

But before he can feel it, hold his breath and dive into it, Charles is stopping.

“Erik, Erik, come back to me – you’re bleeding.”

He groans his frustration, swims back to the surface. Blood is a hard limit for Charles.

4

The handcuffs are not his favorite. The cheap metal – they’re from a shop Charles insisted they visit when they were in San Francisco – sings off-key to him and the shrill tone occupies too much space in his head.

Charles like him bound. Erik likes pleasing Charles.

But he can feel that space, hovering beneath him. He’s too high to reach it, too fixed on his irritation – and also his satisfaction at being what Charles needs at the moment.

It’s not what he wants, but it’s enough.

3

Erik grinds his teeth. Then he forces himself to relax; he starts with the muscles in his jaw and focuses next on the muscles of his neck. Charles has told him to wait. And so he will wait.

But it’s not fair, is it? Charles is touching himself and that’s Erik’s job when they’re locked together in Charles’s bedroom. He’s being punished, he knows and he accepts it – he should have listened to Charles instead of pushing himself so hard in training. He’d collapsed in the middle of what the children were calling the Danger Room.

The wet sound of Charles’s hand on his cock, slick with lube and Erik’s spit, made Erik whine.

“What have you learned, my darling?” Charles is panting.

He knows the answer Charles wants from him; Charles always wants the truth. Erik sighs out the last of his self-control, gives himself over to Charles’s will instead of his own. “That you will take care of me even when I will not take care of myself.”

The stiffness of his posture eases when he admits it. It feels good to give in to Charles, to make amends for his own mistake. Erik is completely present, completely relaxed. Erik knows he is completely safe.

2

“I want you to concentrate on your breathing, darling.” Charles has bound him with rope this time. He knows Erik favors it, likes the organic hemp fiber that doesn’t have a trace of metal in it. It keeps Erik confined in a way that anything metallic won’t. And Charles thinks that the tall, lean man looks even prettier than usual wrapped up tight from ankle to knee and wrist to elbow.

Erik doesn’t struggle – he feels like he’s suspended in the deep end of the mansion’s indoor swimming pool, heated water supporting each of his long limbs. If he were to move, Erik knows it would feel like he was swimming through something thick, his blood like syrup.

He’s so close to that place in his head, the current that is always there, pulling him toward Charles. The feeling of it is what makes him want to kneel by Charles’s chair at dinner, is what makes him want to offer Charles his throat in some kind of submission that Erik doesn’t even understand. He wants Charles to own him.

It’s a terrifying thought, even though he’s concentrating on his breathing, counting the slow and regular pace of it. The warm waves pulling him under recede – Erik is suddenly desperate for more oxygen, can’t pull it into his lungs fast enough.

He can’t remember his safe word.

The sudden freedom of his arms and legs just lends to his panic. Erik cries out, sobs – and Charles catches him, gathers him close. Charles is stronger than he looks, strong enough to hold fast to Erik when he tries to flail out in his fear.

“Shh, love, hush, whatever it is, I’ve got you. I’ve got you and I won’t let go.” Charles is whispering it in Erik’s ear and in his mind as well – Erik is surrounded by Charles.

It’s terrifying and wonderful and Erik is afraid he will lose it the way he has lost everything else.

Charles rocks him gently and shows no signs of letting go.

1

It was just a look. Charles looked at him all the time. But not like this. Not like Erik was another dish being served up for Charles’s supper, something to put on his plate and consume with his roast beef and asparagus. 

Erik shivered. He would make his excuses if anyone asked, say that he’d spent too long in the sun and had taken a chill. But it’s the hunger in Charles’s gaze that has him quivering, stomach too tight to eat.

It’s just a look but Erik wants to crawl under the table until he’s crouched on hands and knees between Charles’s thighs, wants to wait there for any instruction Charles wants to offer him. If he could do that, Erik thinks, if he could just disregard the children at the table with them and take his place at Charles’s feet, he could go under and still breath.

“Pass the mashed potatoes, please.” Erik’s voice is a harsh croak. Raven gives him a strange look – but she passes the bowl to him just the same. Erik decorates his plate with food he does not think he will be able to eat. Erik yearns. 

+1

He’s still covered in Charles’s semen. To be fair, Charles is wearing a fair amount of Erik's in return. But Erik’s too tired, too happy to get up right away, in search of a wet wash cloth to clean them both up. Erik knows the skin on his belly is going to itch, but he buries his face in Charles’s neck anyway.

Charles tugs on the roots of Erik’s hair – Charles has a fist at the back of Erik’s head still and his other hand is smoothing sweat-damp tendrils away from Erik’s face.

“It’s okay, darling; you’re so good, my love.” Charles is crooning, and the sound of it vibrates pleasantly against Erik’s ribs. If he were given to fancies, he would say he can feel it in his heart.

Instead, Erik feels his eyes slip close, feels his mind slip down. His body aches, sweet and painful, and his skin feels overwhelmed with it. When Charles pulls on his hair, Erik finds himself uprooted from all of his whirling thoughts.

He doesn’t move; Erik drops hard and fast.

Later he’ll wonder why it happens this way sometimes, why they’ll be finished with their sex before his final walls collapse and he’s taken by his own undertow, deep and swift and strong.

But at the moment, Erik lets himself go, lets himself swim in the smell and the feel and the taste of the two of them together. He’s vaguely aware of Charles shifting his body into a more comfortable position, vaguely aware that Charles is saying sweet things in his ear. 

Erik feels himself breathing, and it is everything.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [than to be fed by anyone else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787795) by [Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red)




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